


His Head Was Cut Off And Put On A Pike

by SecondFromTheRight



Series: Three Things I Need Carol To Say/Hear [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21646999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondFromTheRight/pseuds/SecondFromTheRight
Summary: Thatwas what Daryl was asking of her. Not just a future, buttheirfuture.Thatwas what she was trying her best to avoid,that’swhat hurt. She didn’t know how to give it to him. She wanted it, she dreamed it, but Henry was in those dreams too and she didn’t know how to separate them right now. She didn’t know how to have one without the other, without letting go of Henry.Her son’s head was cut off and put on a pike.Carol had a lot of thoughts, but it always came back to one.Set 10x09
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Carol Peletier, Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Series: Three Things I Need Carol To Say/Hear [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560571
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	His Head Was Cut Off And Put On A Pike

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few conversations that I need Carol to have.
> 
> Pretty much done with the fan criticism of Carol's reactions, as if she hasn't always responded with the same extreme single-mindedness in coping with everything she's been through and she's not totally in character right now. As if multiple characters haven't also lost their shit the same way after loss and this is a brand new concept. As if this isn't different to her previous losses. I need a few very obvious, defining moments to happen.
> 
> So this is 1. Her "I lost my son!" Jaha moment, which I hope will have an equivalent on screen.
> 
> I'm avoiding all spoilers/rumours/theories for this set of fics. I'm using only scenes in the trailer as settings.

“We don’t fight for revenge, we fight for our future.” Daryl said softly as they sat in this stupid cave. Always softly. Always softly and supportive and reassuring and tempting and she just _couldn’t_.

Her jaw tensed. “What about Henry’s future?” she challenged back at him with a turn of her head, meeting his eyes.

She watched him deflate, so much sadness and now shame on him as he stared back at her. She had to turn away, reminding herself that she was done. It didn’t matter if he momentarily managed to break through all the walls she put up, it didn’t matter how much she wanted that future, with him, how much she dreamed about it or how much it hurt to turn away from it – it hurt more to give up on Henry, to just let it go. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

_Her son's head was cut off and put on a pike._

“You shouldn’t have followed me, none of you. Not here, and not the other day.” She continued with some resentment she purposely clung onto. This was her fight. Her son, her failing.

He was silent and she could feel him looking at her, staring at her. Why couldn’t his presence be heavy, burdening and uncomfortable? Why couldn’t it be chilling instead of comforting, she thought for a second before taking it back, crossing it out in her mind and putting it where she kept so much of her own shame. Daryl was _good_. Lingering and soothing and _good_. Even now, even when she knew all this would cost her _him_ , she wouldn’t bring her down with him. She had been trying so hard to keep him away from it, from her, from her ruin, from her end, but he wouldn’t give up on her. Because he was _good_. Too good to be stuck in this with her.

“You expect me to just to stay back and let you put yourself is so much damn danger?” he questioned with an angry disbelief that just further infuriated her.

“Yes!” she said in a rush, voicing the thoughts in her head as she briefly turned back to him. “My son is dead,” she continued as she met his anger with her own, but her breath caught pathetically as the words left her mouth. She was sure she walked around with a sign on her back; mom to dead sons and daughters. She’d failed them all. No matter what she did, she failed them. It was all that was left of her, yet somehow saying it out loud with the person who knew her most, giving it that extra physical reality, it stabbed at her as if she didn’t already feel it in every step of her feet, in every breath of her lungs, as if there was somehow more to her. She shook her head and took a deep breath, pushing through the uncomfortableness. It should be uncomfortable; she deserved every painful moment of it.

“And it wasn’t a walker, Daryl. It wasn’t…” she paused as she thought about Sophia, left alone in the woods, back before they knew what they were doing. Their first experience of a herd, and now it was a horde. She thought about her anger at Rick then, her self-hate at her uselessness at not being able to do anything but wait and rely on the others to look for her while she cleaned, washed, made dinner, pestered and cried. While she did everything she felt she _could_ do, because she couldn’t do _nothing_. She could never do _nothing_ , but she hadn’t known how to do something useful back then. She didn’t think she could do anything that meant something. Instead what she did back then was on the sidelines. She cleared the borders of a problem, tried to deal with any possible obstacles someone might claim and made it as easy as possible for the others to do the real work. She only enabled the real work. But that wasn’t her anymore. She refused to do subtle, she refused to do careful and cautious. Because she could do it all now, alone, and she would. “An accident,” she summed up quietly before continuing with her losses. “Or…” She stopped herself as she thought about Lizzie and Mika. Not a walker like Sophia or Sam or Carl. Not a stupid, pointless accident like Sophia being left or like Beth. Something else. _Her_. _Her_ denial, _her_ obliviousness, _her_ judgement, _her_ gun. No one alive knew anything about that but her, and she wasn’t about to blurt it out now. She didn’t think she ever would. Another shame that went into the box in her mind, another shame that lined her skin as much as the physical scars on her did. Worse, sometimes. So much worse.

Closing her eyes, she tried to refocus herself.

She swallowed, still feeling Daryl’s eyes on her, which she turned to willingly this time, defiantly, because it this wasn’t any of those things, it wasn’t like before. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she started carefully, tears choking at her again. She hadn’t. She didn’t want any of them in here with her, hadn’t wanted to risk any of them, least of all Daryl. “But she cut my son’s head off and put it on a pike,” she spat, the memory clear in her mind. It would never leave her. Her _son_ … “You looked for The Governor for months after Merle,” she pointed out. “Michonne for longer. And Rick, after Lori? He completely checked out. And then when _he_ … All of us – it broke all of us apart, for _years_ ,” she continued, reminding him that it wasn’t just her. It had never just been her. He knew more than any of them what it was to be so broken that you couldn’t just be put back together. She couldn’t even mention Glenn and Abraham.

The difference this time was that it was her son. It wasn’t a loss to all of them. It wasn’t a loss they shared.

It should be. It wasn’t only her son in that field. That was Alpha’s plan, to cause the most damage to all the communities. She knew it rationally, she saw it in the others sometimes, but she couldn’t feel it. It hadn’t seemed to consume the others the way it had her. Though she wasn’t the only one to lose someone that day, she felt completely alone in her loss because it was _her son_.

“This is my son. _Mine_. He was…” she tried to explain but had to stop herself again, angrily brushing away the tears now falling down her face. “And you’re angry at me because I just can’t let it go?” she glared at him, annoyed at him expecting something good from her. Something as _good_ as he was. Didn’t he get it by now? She failed. She failed everyone, all of them, over and over. Anytime she did do something useful, it cost her herself because she wasn’t strong enough to handle the fall out and the consequences. She was the opposite of him in that sense, always had been. Daryl protected people, and she failed them. Daryl brightened in the challenges, she crumbled.

She’d been the burden, then she'd convinced herself she was useful, helpful, capable, that she was different. She wasn’t sure anymore if she’d ever been _good_. She’d become capable, useful, but not helpful – not _good_. And now she was a burden again. She was the difficult one, again. Because now Daryl expected her to pick herself up and be better, now she was affecting him too. Now she was getting in his way. They were all in here because of her. Daryl needed to let her do this by herself.

_Her son’s head was cut off and put on a pike._

“You think that’s what I’m asking you to do? Just let it go?” he asked in a low grumble as his eyes just barely narrowed at her.

There was irritation there, and _hurt_. Hurt that she turned away from, because she knew that wasn’t what he was asking of her. He was too reasonable for that, too understanding and _too good._ Too knowing, of her, of pain and loss. No, she knew he wasn’t asking her to just let it go, but he was asking her to be something she couldn’t be just now. She’s gotten through it before, and some of her, enough of her to function had gotten through it again and again. Each time, piece by piece of her was gone. Each failing, each death. There wasn’t enough left of her to do it again. Not this time. Not when there was someone responsible, someone still standing and breathing when her son wasn’t. No.

So she turned away again, avoiding his eyes, unable to lie so blatantly to those eyes that seared into her. He always knew anyway. “She has to pay.” She deflected instead, hearing it repeat over and over again in her mind. The one clear thing to grasp onto, and the only thing she wouldn’t let go of.

_Her son’s head was cut off and put on a pike._

“She will.” He reassured softly, giving a single, steady nod she saw from the corner of her eye.

With a scoff, she dismissed it. “How? Dante fooled everyone! Members of the council spent every day with him and had no idea and now Siddiq is dead!” she pointed out as she turned to him. He remained quiet, his eyes drifting down like he was holding himself back, or just didn’t have an answer. “And everyone’s just doing nothing!” she continued in a rant. She wasn’t wrong. Alpha hadn’t stopped, she hadn’t let it go, _she_ hadn’t done nothing. “Well I can’t do nothing.” She stated as she pushed herself up off the ground to stand up.

“I came back,” he said quietly from behind her, stopping her. “The Governor; I stopped, and I came back.” He explained calmly.

“So did he,” she pushed back as she turned to face him, pushed back at his subtle ask of her to come back to who she used to be.

Looking at his reaction, she wished she hadn’t turned. She wished she hadn’t said anything at all, she wished her hadn’t followed her, she wished a lot of things. His head dropped down, away from her. “Daryl, I didn’t…” she said gently, trying to apologise as she automatically took a step back towards him, that part of her that still cared, still loved, tugging her in close to him. Wanting to comfort, wanting to reassure, wanting to be what he was to her. Safety. Clarity. Strength. Hope. But she didn’t know how right now. She didn’t know how to completely give in to the part of her that just wanted to kneel down with him and put a hand on his cheek until he raised his head confidently again. The part that wanted to brush the hair from his eyes and tell him he was the best man she’d ever known and he was only _good_.

Her eyes pooled with tears again. Every time she tried, every time she gave into that part of her, it was like leaving Henry behind.

_Her son’s head was cut off and put on a pike._

“That wasn’t your fault,” she tried to say as strongly as she could, but it came out in a whisper, her voice so obviously full of tears. He looked up at her then and she felt regret and a deep wrongness in her that he sat there alone, but she couldn’t make herself move closer again. “None of it,” she continued in a weak promise, giving all that she had left to give him. It was important – he was important. None of it had been his fault, not all this time, not in all the years. All the things, loses, they never talked about more than once, the grief – it had become habit to shut it away. To flick the switch and just forget it, until she couldn’t anymore, until it took her over.

She hated herself even more, knowing that he carried so much guilt he shouldn’t and she’d just added to it. Carelessly said something as if she didn’t know how much he hurt, how much it weight on him. They stared at each other, her vision blurred with tears but she couldn’t look away from him. Finally, when the tears fell and she could see him clearly again, it was somehow harder to meet his eyes.

She shook her head. “It’s just what always happens,” she said sadly.

Hershel’s head, her son’s head. Daryl had seen both.

One fight to the next.

Everyone they’d faced, how many things had happened because they’d given someone a chance, because they hadn’t stopped it right away. She’d tried the second option too, with Karen and David. It didn’t help either, it didn’t fix it, didn’t save their happiness, their home they’d shed so much for. Nothing ever did.

She bowed her head, hearing the moans of the walkers around them. Walkers were easier. But she’d always known that deep down. She’d always known that people were what was really dangerous, even before all this.

One fight to the next.

_Her son’s head was cut off and put on a pike._

“I understand why Maggie's stayed away.” She said, finally referencing what Negan had done, both thinking of her friend and trying to give Daryl something, an explanation maybe. An apology. He’d brought it up himself when she got back, trying to say without saying that he understood why she’d left, but also trying to separate her too – wanting her to choose differently than Maggie had. It was how he’d pushed without pushing in that careful, attentive way that Daryl did. The way where he saw so much, more than she wanted him to sometimes, but still allowed her to keep some of it back. Never leaving her too vulnerable. The way he protected.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to stay.” He said softly, his own apology on his lips as he acknowledged their previous conversation. She didn’t want it; he didn’t owe it.

She should be strong enough to stay, to help, to be more than capable and useful physically, but _emotionally_. To be there for the most important person to her, to the person that grounded her. But she wasn’t. Not anymore, if she ever had been. And she didn’t think there was enough of her left to even try and find out.

“It doesn’t matter,” she brushed off quietly. “Maggie has someone to stay away for. I thought I had…” she swallowed, keeping her head down and away from his eyes. “ _Reasons_ to come back,” she said carefully, avoiding the words that _he_ was the reason – a reason to stay. _He_ was the reason she’d tried, why she hadn’t gotten back on that boat that night. She’d thought she’d maybe be able to cope, to try, her reason being as much as it was. She’d thought maybe she could… “But…” she whispered before trailing off with a shake of her head, sighing tiredly. “She chose what she did for her son. So am I,” she determined, finally drawing some version of strength again, surety, at least. “Henry doesn’t have a future, so neither will the bitch that killed him.” She turned and went to walk away.

_Her son’s head was cut off and put on a pike._

“You won’t have one either, if you keep this up,” He said urgently, still trying, and she heard pleading this time, his own tears, she thought too.

_It hurt._ Like before, _it hurt._

But it would get better for him, she reminded herself. After this, after _her_ , it would better for him. He would have a community around him, he would lead, and maybe if he let himself, he would have someone good like him, someone better than her, without her baggage, without her damage, someone stronger, to smile with him and be with him through the fights that came after. Someone more than just physically capable. Someone sweet and kind and who still cared about people, like she once had. Someone who still tried, like she once had. Someone who would keep working to get that light out of him, someone who would enjoy getting that softness out of him, like she once had – like she still did, but…but _her son’s head was cut off and put on a pike._

She looked at him over her shoulder, finding him staring at her, the ask of his pleading so open upon his face as it was in his voice. His shoulders heaved slightly as he looked up at her, _waiting_ for her. Letting her eyes drift down and away from his, she shook her had in apology. She wouldn’t admit outright that he was right. She didn’t want to fight with him about it, but she couldn’t deny what was so obvious either. She was too tired.

“ _We_ won’t have one.” He added softly, desperately, his _‘please’_ unsaid but clear as he dropped the subtlety, the carefulness.

_That_ was what he was asking of her. Not just a future, but _their_ future. _That_ was what she was trying her best to avoid, _that’s_ what hurt. She didn’t know how to give it to him. She wanted it, she dreamed it, but Henry was in those dreams too and she didn’t know how to separate them right now. She didn’t know how to have one without the other, without letting go of Henry.

_Her son’s head was cut off and put on a pike._

She couldn’t.

Her son’s head was cut off and put on a pike, because he too was _good_. Because he too wanted to help someone, because he too put someone else before himself, because he too had recognised someone lost and helped them find themselves, because he too had fought for someone else.

Daryl hadn’t raised Henry with her. He hadn’t been at the stove making them breakfast every day like in her dreams, but the similarities of that goodness were there, and it was too much. It was too much because the only real memory that stuck out to her of both of them was Daryl holding her up as her son’s decapitated head moved in the wind near them.

She resisted lifting her eyes and meeting his. She didn’t touch the tears once again on her face. She didn’t do anything to acknowledge what he’d said, because if she did…if she did… _She couldn’t._ She’d tried, she’d asked him to leave with her. Maybe it wouldn’t have worked, maybe she would have been just as broken, just as restless, but it was all she’d had to offer. As they stood in this cave with Alpha’s horde, that chance was gone now.

Keeping her eyes down, she walked away towards the others, her eyes assessing around her again for a way out and do what she had to do.

She couldn’t just sit here any longer. She couldn’t do nothing.

Her son was dead. _His head was cut off and put on a pike._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm slightly precious about Walking Dead character hate (any character), so please don't put it in my comments? Thank you.


End file.
